


About donuts and coffee

by Marudny_Robot



Series: Some drabbles and one-shot's [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Parody, cursing? some slight cursing, unhealthy obsession (over donuts. Mainly.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 14:02:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marudny_Robot/pseuds/Marudny_Robot
Summary: Little collection of drabbles about Tim Drake, donuts and unhealthy obsession (and sometimes coffee).





	About donuts and coffee

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be on February 8th (because Fat Thursday and _pączki_ ), but… _exams_ , so I’m very sorry it’s late.
> 
> With Special thanks to [@lilalou-draws](https://lilalou-draws.tumblr.com/) ([Li_La_Lou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Li_La_Lou/pseuds/Li_La_Lou)) because if it wasn’t for that doughnut shirt and her help, that fic would never happen.

Tim was seven when he first tried donuts.

Surprisingly, he was also seven when he tried coffee – mistaking it for the cocoa (and it wasn’t his fault, because his nanny apparently _had to_ make coffee and cocoa in similar cups and put them besides each other) – but back then, it wasn’t up to his tastes.

But, going back to donuts. The first time he tried that sweet pastry, was when a girl from his class decided to share with him. Back then, the seven-soon-to-be-eight years old Tim felt as he had just met the love of his life.

Although, to this day, he has no idea why that girl wanted to share her doughnut with him, nor why she acted so weird when he asked if she had more – but it wasn’t important now.

What matters is that Tim, still to this day, remembers the vicious battle of minds between him and his current nanny at that time. That woman was _adamant_ that Tim could not eat _that many_ donuts – _or better!_ That he should not eat them _at all_. And, unfortunately, she was really good in guessing where her charge hidden all those donuts.

It’s not like Tim was joking when he admitted to considering her his _first enemy_. _She was_ good.

But back then Tim was better.

(He still remembers her last day working for Drakes’. That stink eye she send him, before closing the door – and that curious look from his mother as she asked him, later in the day, _what has he done?_ )

He was sure he won. After all, he never saw her again! There was no more fight! No one to tell him no to donuts! What other sign he needed?!

 

… _But here he was_. In Blüdhaven, in civvies, with his _brother_ – Officer Grayson.

… _And so was_ She. Talking to Dick about how policemen are usually seen with donuts and what bad image this brings and _did you know children shouldn’t eat that much sugar?_

Tim _swore_ , she looked at _him_ , as she said the last part.

And his brother, _Dick_ , nodded to her _words of wisdom_ – in the end refusing to buy that box of donuts, they planned to eat today.

 

Tim glared at his former nanny. She won that battle. But the war wasn’t yet over.

 

&&&&

 

It sounded _cliché_. The Big Bad wanting to talk with the Protagonist one-on-one, directing him to selected room and sending away his guards and servants.

For all that banter Tim had with Ra’s Al Ghul over the comms, before they even saw each other since that whole plan ‘let’s help Tim find clues for Bruce whereabouts’ started… Tim could foresaw this.

It was too _cliché. Why he ha_ _sn_ _’t foreseen this?!_

He cursed mentally, looking at the table in the middle of the room, full of delicious looking cakes, with baskets of fresh fruits as well as the dried ones and pitcherswith tea and coffee. Plate full of freshly baked donuts laid in the middle of the table d a r i n g   h i m.

“Why don’t you eat something, Detective?” Ra’s asked sitting on one of two chairs besides the table. Second chair obviously for Tim.

“…No, thank you.” He replied after the moment, not going to sit. “I was repeatedly warned about _old guys in the white van_ , you know?”

Ra’s took a sip from his cup, calmly.

“…Are you aware, Detective, that there are places in the world, where calling people _old_ is considered rude and … _inconvenient_ for the speaking party?”

“…Are _you_ aware that some people consider eight hundred as _ancient_? Besides, you _forgot_ to negate the metaphorical _van_.”

“And you aren’t bothering to excuse your statement, knowing full well that there might be repercussions for your insolence.”

“What about the van?”

“What _van_ , Timothy?”

“Oh! For the love of-! _Forget it._ I don’t want your snacks. No thanks. They are probably _laced_ with water from Lazarus Pit or something…”

“Quite astound observation. What gave it away?”

Tim was _this close_ to flipping the damned table.

 

&&&&

 

_Did you got it?_

Steph messaged Tim.

_Yeah. Just brought it from the Manor._

_and??? did you tried it????_

_not yet_

_what are you waiting for then?!?! your sister wants pics!_

Tim rolled his eyes at the demand, exasperated. He just got back from work, stopping at the Manor to take the package while trying to avoid everyone, and went back to his Nest. He was tired and he also had to look at the case files before patrol.

He heard the _ping_ for the new message.

_baby brother_

_picture?_

_Great_. It seemed like Cass also wanted to annoy him.

He sighed, resigned to his fate.  He threw his phone on the couch – ignoring all those _pings,_ which were a sign of Steph and Cass being bored – and went to take a shower.

(Besides, before, he actually _couldn’t wait_ for that package to arrive.)

 

About hour or two later, the girls were laughing at pics Tim have sent them.

On one, you could see Tim in front of the mirror, wearing red hoodie and aviator glasses on his face. In his hand he hold his phone (in new pink & doughnut patterned case) – indicating what he used to take the picture. Dozens of phone straps and charms with little _coffee cups,_ _donuts and marshmallows_ were hanging from it. Caption said: ’ _couldn’t decide’_.

Other pic must have been taken by someone else (or Tim must have use his camera) as his phone was seen inside his pocket. On the pic, Tim with his hoodie on, was crouching on the floor, making lopsided peace sign with his hands. Besides him was big donut plushie with little hands and legs and cute little smiling face on the top. There was no caption.

On the last picture, camera was placed on one end of the table, so that both chairs on the opposite sides could be seen. On one chair sat Tim – on the other, placed on stacks of books, was coffee-cup plushie similar to the doughnut one. On the table, in front of each, were placed cups with coffee. In the center of the picture (and between the cups) stood single glass with one fake flower in it. Caption said: 'Perfect date <3’.

On all pictures, Tim hold perfect poker face.

 

&&&&

 

Lucius stopped mid-sentence.

“Bruce? Is everything alright?”

Bruce Wayne didn’t turn to Lucius to answer him. Instead he hold his gaze, looking at his middle son.

Tim – _Timothy –_ was sitting at the other end of the conference table wearing _the most. Eyesore._ _T_ _hing!_ that Bruce had laid eyes upon.

“Tim.” Bruce said, almost not intoning the question and going straight for blaming his son for his new migraine.

In that moment everyone in the conference room stopped talking. All invested in the confrontation between father and son.

“Bruce.” Tim replied, non-pulsed.

Bruce raised eyebrows in question.

Tim raised his, asking different question.

Bruce’s eyebrows fell back to normal. He send Tim lighter version of his _dad_ glare.

“What?” Tim asked, sipping his coffee.

Bruce gestured vaguely with his hand at Tim.

“Can’t you just _say_ , like normal person for once?”

“Your _sweatshirt,_ Tim.”

“What of it?” Tim took a sip of his coffee.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because, I’m _cold?_ No spleen here, remember?”

Bruce was done. He hid his face in his hands and counted to ten, breathing slowly. Then counted to another ten.

“ _Oh!_ You meant, why _that one_ , right?” Tim asked, while Bruce tried to calm himself. His father nodded, feeling a spark of something akin to _hope_.

Tim grinned and pulled at his pink sweatshirt with doughnut pattern, gesturing at it. “Cool, isn’t it?! Cass sent me this. She was worried I might be cold. She is just _the best_.”

Bruce felt the spark die in the most horrible way possible.

 

&&&&

 

“Jay? Are you listening to me?”

“Stopped a while ago. You aren’t saying anything new.”

“I’m telling you _intel_ for your _major case._ Some appreciation would be nice.”

“As I said – nothing new.”

Tim glared at him. He reached for his coffee, but before he could grab the mug, Jason snatched it and put on the highest shelf – far away from Tim.

Tim looked bewildered – and little angry – at Jason. “What’s your fucking problem?!”

“I don’t have a problem, Timmers. _You have_. I’m just helping.”

“Is it intervention?”

“Might as well be.”

Tim crossed his arms in front of his chest. He _did not_ pout, but he also refused to talk to the other man. Jason shrugged, silence not being a problem for him. He went back to the kitchen counter and continued his project.

Tim for first two minutes considered grabbing his mug from the shelf – and planning the way to do it without Jason’s immediate intervention. In the end he admitted that, sadly, there was no way he could grab that mug without Jason interfering and spilling it’s contents. He could go with more _elaborate plan_ (and probably also save the precious liquid) _but…_

But for this he would also have to give a _damn –_ which wasn’t happening today. Nope. Not a chance.

He sighed deeply, suddenly feeling very tired. There was no point in arguing about the case, _if that was how Jason wanted it,_ but he also didn’t know what to do now (and wasn’t ready to get up and go home).

Thankfully, Tim knew the best remedy for boredom, which he learned during his childhood _–_ observing what Jason was doing. Unfortunately, without his favorite camera.

“…Are you making a _cake_?” he asked curious, after few minutes of silent observation.

Jason turned to him, confusion on his face.

“No?” He replied and turned back. “I’m kneading _dough.”_

“…Why?”

“Because I want to? And I _can_?” he halfway turned to Tim and added: “You won’t believe how good it is for working out frustrations. What, you want to help?”

Tim shrugged. “I could, if you want. But I would rather eat.”

“Good, because I don’t want you to help me with this.” Not looking up from what he was doing, he pointed at box laying in the corner. “Those are failures. Leave all too burnt ones and you can eat the rest.”

Tim looked inside the said box, surprised. He took one of the bread rolls from there.

“They are all fresh…?” he squeezed one. “I don’t think there is even _one_ burnt one.” Tim heard Jason cursing. “What for do you even need burnt ones?”

“For Bruce, who else? I’m not giving Alfred burnt ones.”

“Then, who gets the newest batch?” Tim gestured at Jason’s work.

“For Alfred. _Hopefully.”_

“…Can’t you just give him one of those?”

“Are you kidding me?!” Jason retorted, abandoning his work to turn to Tim.

“Timmers. Those? Those are _shit.”_ Jason grabbed one at shoved it at Tim’s face, making him fall back. “Those ones are too brown. These – too white. These are too crunchy while those two were baking so short, that it’s wonder they still have the same shape.”

Tim swatted Jayson hand away from him.

“Yes, Jay – now I totally can see the difference.”

Jayson huffed annoyed at Tim’s sarcasm.

“Forget it.” he said annoyed and got back to his work.

Now, Tim felt like an asshole. He still had no clue, why Jason was striving for _perfection_ (where those bread rolls he made, were actually delicious), but, _maybe_ , he could said it in different way.

Tim went to stand besides Jason. “Sorry.” He started, as he leaned on the counter and looked at Jayson. “Didn’t meant to… laugh at you or something. I just honestly believe that those bread rolls in the box are delicious and I think that Alfred will be happy with them. You know – no need to be hard on yourself.”

Jason nodded, showing Tim that he was listening. “Yeah, I’m aware that Alfred will love it. Alfred will love whatever I bring him, even if I bring him failed try at _Tamareans_ food, only making subtle excuses to not eat it. That’s how awesome Alfred is and also that’s not the problem here.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I _have to_ show _someone_ that _I’m better_ and that I can _make edible food, thank you very much_.… And Alfred is the only one I know, who can tell me what’s wrong with it.”

Tim nodded slowly, trying to not think why Jason got so… worked up about the whole deal.

But curiosity got better of him.

“ _And_ that someone is…?”

“The same person that showed me how to bake and make other things. Some old lady I’ve met in Germany – she and her family runs bakery. They lent me a bed, in exchange I help them with bakery.”

“That’s sounds nice.”

“Because it was. Nice family. They had two daughters and a dog.”

“Cool. But you mentioned showing her who’s be-”

Tim jumped, when Jason slammed his fist on the dough.

“ _Who’s better. Yes._ ” Jason continued to calmly knead the dough. “Because that granny doesn’t want to share her recipe _unless,_ I quote: 'Du wirst aufhörfen, diese Brötchen zu backen, bis sie so dunkel sind wie du.'” Jason grimaced, parodying whoever told him this. 

Tim gave Jason a questioning look, wanting Jason to translate – but sadly, he was ignored.

Jason continued, _angered –_ not caring who was listening.

“'So dunkel wie ich? **’**?! _That audacity!_ That stupid _hag_ and her _stupid_ white-ass _Brötchen_ _!_ Sie hat von Brötchen geträumt, die so dunkel sind wie meine!Who the fuck does she thinks she is?! Saying stupid shit as that?!! Ha?!”

Tim took few steps away from Jason, moment when he saw others eyes turn slightly green. He didn’t plan to be a victim of whatever Jason was throwing tantrum for.

Thankfully, after minute or two of unrecognizable-for-Tim German words and five minutes of taking deep breaths, Jason visibly calmed down.

“Soo… you mentioned also knowing how to make pastries…” Tim said after the moment of silence. Jason nodded.

Tim grinned. “So Jay, how do you feel about making me some donuts for that intel?”

“No.” he replied. “Forget it, Replacement. We gonna take care of this obsession of yours, after we take care of the coffee one.”

Again. Tim _did not_ pout.

 

&&&&

 

Dick tried to be quiet, as he slowly shortened the distance. It was for the good cause, _he swore!_

“ _Grayson. Put. The phone. DOWN.”_ growled Damian, not looking at Dick.

Dick sighed. _B_ _usted –_ he commented to himself. He _didn’t_ put the phone down, but he stopped sneaking and walked normally to the younger boy.

He ruffled Damian’s hair. “What cha’ doing, little D? Eating donuts? What about Alfred’s dinner, huh?”

Damian glared at him. “You saw nothing”, he muttered giving almost perfect impersonation of his father. Unfortunately, powder on his face and another doughnut in his hand destroyed the effect.

Fortunately, Dick managed to snap a photo. That one would definitely go to family album.

“Sure, Dami. Whatever you say.” Dick replied, ignoring murderous looks from his baby brother. He  took one of the few remaining donuts. “Hey, do you know who left that box here?”

“I saw Drake bringing it. He put it here temporarily, when father called for him.”

Dick was coughing. Panic overtook him.

“Those were Timmy's…?”

As he started saying he felt the temperature in the room fall. The feeling of danger being near, which was honed trough all his vigilante’s years, was now screaming in his head. Slowly, he turned around, only to stand face-to-face with Tim.

Tim, who was ready to gut Dick and hide the body.

“…Timmy… little bro…Do you…want donut… maybe…?”

Tim glared at Dick one last time. He turned to Damian, giving the oldest a break.

Dick took a deep breath, to calm his pounding heart. And another one. It was working. Until he remembered that he left _angry Tim_ with   _D a m i a n._

He was about ready to stop _another_ little brothers quarrel (and how much he _hoped_ to not do this…!), when his eyes look upon the most strange view in recent month. Namely, Tim and Damian talking calmly and sharing donuts.

 _Those donuts had to be laced with some poison!_ Dick’s mind supplied, crashing on other explanations.

Not aware of oldest brother dilemma, Tim laughed at his other brother’s joke.

“Come on, Dami. We will take Titus on the walk, while I show you the best place with donuts.” Tim suggested smiling and prompting Damian to go after him. He then exited from the kitchen.

Damian silently agreed to Tim’s offer. He took the last doughnut from the box, while glancing at Grayson.

“What?” Damian asked, seeing shocked face of his older brother. “You expected us to fight? It’s getting _really old,_ Richard.”

Damian went to get Titus, not waiting for Dick’s answer.

Dick didn’t know what to say to this turn of events. After a moment he laughed, relieved. (But he would check that doughnut place later. Who knows what strange hallucinogens they may add to the recipe.)

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translation:**  
>  1) "…unless, I quote: **'Du wirst aufhörfen, diese Brötchen zu backen, bis sie so dunkel sind wie du.'** ”  
> (’You’ll stop baking those bread buns till they are dark as you’)"
> 
> 2)" **'So dunkel wie ich’**?! That audacity! That stupid hag and her stupid white-ass Brötchen! **Sie hat von Brötchen geträumt, die so dunkel sind wie meine!** Who the fuck does she thinks she is?! Saying stupid shit as that?!! Ha?!” (’Dark as me’?! (…) She dreams of having her buns dark as mine!!)"
> 
> PS: Can we talk about polyglot Waynes?


End file.
